Mourning and Remembrance
by PixieSpriteify
Summary: AU story, set during season 4. One of the team falls in the line of duty, and the others mourn their loss. But the event affects one member more than the others. May turn into a series, depending on the reception.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I'm fairly new to this, so please review if you wish. I apologise for any mistakes, they are my own, I did not use a beta, and your reviews would be greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading.

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Rain drops landed on her head, forming small beads of glinting light on her hair. The water dripped onto her pale face, mixing with the hot tears spilling from her eyes, falling down her face, across her white cheeks, her pink lips, until they joined the rain, falling to the grass beneath her feet. Looking up slightly, she cast her gaze across the seemingly endless expanse of land, stone blocks scattered grey amongst the green. As far as she could see, rows and rows of tombstones with a small summary of the corpses' life and a kind word the last thing that remained of them. It made her smirk bitterly for a moment - just a fleeting moment - that the love of her life would be reduced to nothing more than memories and keepsakes, and a few words scrawled on stone. Looking to her right, she saw Pete standing next to her; one arm wrapped around the young redhead, who was sobbing quietly into his jacket, the other hand holding a black umbrella over them. Claudia's pain was almost too much for her to take, but she was numb. Tears fell freely, but she couldn't feel them. Throughout the service, she hadn't made a sound; simply sat slightly away from the others. Pete, with his instincts and his knowledge of her, knew that comfort would send her over the edge, and, with a single look over the sobbing Claudia, he could tell what she was saying. 'Soon, I promise, I'll let it out. But not yet.' Pete tipped his head in an acknowledging nod, and said nothing, just hugged Claudia closer to him.

She felt a hand on her arm, the touch gentle and caring. Turning away from her friends, she saw Vanessa Calder, dressed in black like the rest of them, her umbrella providing momentary shelter from the relentless rain that hadn't seemed to have stopped since…  
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, taking her cold hand in her warm gloves. She nodded in reply, unable to even consider talking. Vanessa gave her a small smile before heading off to the left to wait. Next was Artie, pausing for a moment to place a hand on her shoulder, giving her a look fool of regret, apology and sorrow. All she could do was nod again. Finally, Mrs Frederic, dressed smartly in black, an umbrella held up by a bodyguard of some kind. The woman simply looked at her for a moment, and then went to stand with Artie and Vanessa off to the side a little. Finally, as the crowd gathered around the deep grave, she turned to see the coffin, bore on the shoulders of six men. As she watched them approach, watching the rain bouncing off the dark ochre wood, she saw the white lilies on the lid, the golden plaque with the beautiful name emblazoned on it, the gold dulled by the grey clouds above. She sighed, and a small breeze picked up her locks of hair, blowing them past her eyes. She moved to brush it aside, and as her hand crossed her face, her mind momentarily flashed back…

A shot rang out. She had no time. She accepted it, she was trained to. She braced herself. Something suddenly struck her side, sending her sprawling to the ground. She rolled and crouched, gun in hand and fired at the figure, the Tesla beam stunning the shooter, who promptly collapsed. Smiling, she straightened up, ready to thank and possibly tease her saviour since everything worked out alright. Instead of seeing Pete getting to his feet, his hand held up for a hi-five, she saw _her. _Lying on her side. Facing away. Shaking. For the first time in her life, she was not happy to see the dark locks she loved so much, the pale skin that would almost glow in the moonlight. She heard the Tesla clatter to the floor. She couldn't remember dropping it. She couldn't remember anything. Instinct took over, her mind blank of every coherent thought. Lurching forwards, falling to her knees beside her stricken partner, she turned her over to see her beautiful face contorted in pain, her breathing ragged and her chest stained with red. Blood. Training took over. She detached herself. Focused on trying to save her. Applied pressure to the wound. Tried to stop the bleeding. Apparently, her actions had extended her partner's remaining life by a good few hours, but…

Another memory flashed into her mind. A hospital. Bright, white, clean. Completely the opposite of where she had been previously. Sitting in the waiting room. Pacing in the waiting room. Trying to get a grip of herself. Trying not to break down. Not now. Hugging Claudia when she burst in, demanding to know what had happened. Barely able to explain to Artie again. Being enveloped by Pete's warm hug, before pushing him away with an apology. Any comfort would tip her over the edge.

After a few hours, they were allowed in to see her. The others went in first, she held back until everyone else had left. She had entered, seeing her companion more vulnerable than ever, but also peaceful, truly peaceful for the first time. They had shared quiet words together long into the night, and she had fallen asleep by her bedside, holding her friend's warm hand tightly.

The hand was cold when Myka woke.

The coffin was lowered into the ground. She forced herself to watch. She was the first to step forwards and scatter a handful of dirt on the lid, hearing the hollow thump as the earth landed against the wood. Pete went next, then Claudia. When the first shovelful was thrown in, somehow the noise made her heart ache, getting worse with each. People started to drift away, some of them offering condolences, some crying, some looking sombre, she didn't particularly care. Her soaking wet clothes didn't bother her. The gentle song of birds was completely lost to her. She just stared at the slab of grey stone that marked the grave of the person she loved more than anyone else. Her eidetic memory committed every little detail to her mind, the shiny marble seeming to share her tears, water dripping down to roll over the golden lettering, finally reaching the base where the pale lilies sat. Reaching to her neck, her fingers closed around the locket that would from now on always sit there, close to her heart. She heard Pete's voice calling from far away, though in truth he was standing not two feet from her.

"Myka, we have to go," he said gently. Myka sighed, cast her eyes over the grave once more, and then left with Pete and Claudia.

The car journey back to the Bed and Breakfast was in silence, broken only by Claudia's intermittent sniffles. Myka sat in the back, staring blindly out of the window. She barely noticed they were back, before Pete opened the door for her and she stepped out. Slowly walking behind Pete and Claudia, she entered the building and took off her coat, her movements stiff. Her feet carried her through the hall to the living room, but stopped short. Something caught her eye. Something in a bowl on the table. In the fruit bowl was an apple that wasn't there previously she knew, her memory never failed her. Suddenly, she felt herself wracked by emotion, collapsing to the ground and sobbing on her knees, a small part of her wondering how she could come undone by such a simple and innocent object. Leena's comfort made no difference. Everything was just a blur now. She felt strong arms wrap around her and carry her to somewhere much more comfortable, and a smaller body wrapped itself around her, their red hair damp against her chin. There they lay, Myka slipping in and out of sleep, sometimes crying, sometimes not, letting out what seemed like an eternity of pain and anguish at once, before finally falling into a peaceful sleep for the first time in weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting on the window ledge, the pale moonlight cast a silvery haze over the pages of her book. She had read it so many times, she wasn't really reading, her eyes just followed the practised movement whilst her brain supplied the images in her head. She wasn't really focusing properly on that either, her mind was far away from her room in the Bed and Breakfast. Myka Bering should have been tired; she had spent the whole day chasing down a particularly challenging artefact, and had only gotten back a few hours previously. Secretly, she longed for more work; she wanted to drown herself in the Warehouse, to stop her from thinking about… At times like this, early evening or early morning, when everyone else was still in the void between dreams and reality, her thoughts would drift to what she tried so hard to avoid. Outwardly, she was fine. True, she laughed less, and was a little more serious, but that was to be expected after what had happened. The others had assured her it wasn't her fault, but it was no use. If she had been paying more attention, Helena wouldn't have had to save her from the gunman. It would seem she was forever cursed to be just too late, she thought sourly.

Sighing heavily, she leaned forwards and rested her forehead against the pages of her well-worn copy of The Time Machine, inhaling the scent that reminded her of Helena. Tears pricked at her eyes again. It surprised her that she had any left, after the last few weeks. Three weeks and four days, to be exact, not that she had been counting. Forcing them back, she got to her feet, knowing that it was pointless to even attempt to sleep. Her brain simply wouldn't let her be still, lest she be plagued with memories. Shoving on her boots and slinging on her jacket, she swung her long hair over her shoulder as she stepped out into the hall quietly, sneaking down the stairs and to the door. Passing the clock, she discovered the time was twenty six minutes past three. She should be tired. She had been reading for hours, ever since Claudia had fallen asleep on her shoulder in the young tech's room halfway through a movie marathon. Myka had discovered that Claudia had taken the loss of her mentor harder than she had previously thought. The redhead had been occupying herself late at night with projects she and Helena had started but not finished, until Myka had found her last week and they had ended up falling asleep, Claudia resting on Myka's lap, Myka half hugging her pseudo sister. Because that's what they were here. They were a family. Which is why she had made the decision to keep her pain from them, for their sakes. There was nothing they could do about it, why worry them? She knew Leena could tell there was something wrong with her though. Pete too, could tell. Claudia probably could too. Even Artie had eased off a little, a little less gruff, the occasional concerned look directed her way. But no one mentioned it. And she was glad.

Striding over to her car, she paused for a moment, breathing in the cool air and allowing it to momentarily clear her mind; the only feeling was the cold surrounding her, enveloping her. A small breeze played gently with her hair. Then, the moment was broken, and she opened her car door, starting up the engine and drove mindlessly to the Warehouse. She switched on the radio for the journey, jabbing the buttons a little more aggressively than she necessarily had to when a sappy song about heartbreak came on. Driving helped her, she had discovered, as she settled on a station and relaxed a little. It was a task that required her concentration, but she did not need to exert herself much, other than swearing at some people's terrible driving skills. After a period of time had elapsed – Myka wasn't sure how much – she climbed out of her car and slammed the door shut, gazing up with a sigh at the Warehouse. The sky was clear, and the building stood dark against the glow of the moon behind it and the stars dotting the black canvas around it.

Entering the office, she tossed her keys onto the desk and walked straight through the office, passing the drawer with the purple gloves in it, straight to the stairs to the Warehouse floor, and trod the twisting path to the artefact she wanted. She had memorised the directions from her first journey to find it, but she couldn't use it then. Now, however, she was ready, she had to. Her logical side was dead now, her sorrow and longing driving her forwards. Her footsteps echoed darkly throughout the empty building as she walked steadily, her mind fixed on her goal. She would not back out, not again. She had been so close, but she was afraid. Of what, she wasn't sure, or able to admit, but she simply could not face it then, the wound was too raw. Now, she had had time to heal, at least partially, not a single day passed when she hadn't excused herself from the others and cried for five minutes; however, the pain in her heart had dulled from a constant stabbing to an ache, that was not any more bearable, but it was progress nonetheless. At long last, after absent-mindedly trekking through the many aisles, she came to her destination. In front of her on the third shelf was a black wallet with a small tag on it. Picking up the old tag, she read it over again. Harry Houdini's wallet. Attributes: Charonic Transfer. It was dangerous. It was foolish. It was reckless.

Myka reached out and gripped the leather wallet, taking it from its place and inspected it. She wasn't entirely sure how it worked, it seemed to have an affinity for her the last time when it showed her Sam, and that time it had been stored in her bag. Now she held it in her hands, it didn't seem all that powerful. Then again, not much in the Warehouse could be judged by looks. Turning the wallet over and over in her hands, she began to wonder if it would work. Maybe it only worked once. Maybe it would show her Sam again –

"Hello, Myka." The soft British accent drifted over her shoulder, making her spine tingle and tears well in her eyes. She turned, almost afraid of what she would see. Her eyes finally fell on the lithe form of Helena, looking exactly the way she had the morning before she…

"Helena," she replied, or rather, gasped, wrenching her thoughts back to the present. She had known what would happen, she had prepared herself. But it still did no good, no matter how many times she told herself to hold it together, no matter how hard she dug her nails into her sleeves, she couldn't stem the flood of emotion coursing through her as she took in the figure of Helena, corporeal and whole, standing in front of her, as if nothing had happened. Myka remembered seeing the small, slightly apologetic but infinitely warm smile on Helena's face, just before she hit the floor, dropping to her knees and leaning forwards, sobbing so much she could barely breathe, just like she used to ever so recently. However, this time was different. This time, there were warm hands wrapped around her, soft words murmured in her ear, gentle fingers nestling in her hair. The emptiness she felt was erased temporarily by Helena's presence, and she pushed the thought that the temporary relief could not last for much longer from her mind. They sat on the Warehouse floor, Myka wrapped in Helena's embrace, for over half an hour. Forty three minutes, to be exact, not that she was counting.

When Myka finally pulled herself together enough to speak, she sat up slowly, instantly chilled when Helena's arms released her, missing the warmth from their absence already.

"I'm sorry," whispered Myka, wiping her cheeks dry.

"Whatever for?" asked Helena, shifting from behind Myka and knelt in front of her, a smile warm enough to melt the coldest ice playing on her lips. Myka's eyes drank in the mesmerising sight of the woman before her, her porcelain skin nearly glowing with happiness, her chocolate brown eyes exuding so much sympathy and compassion that Myka was surprised they hadn't melted and swirled around her, mixing with the vanilla of her skin. Her ebony hair shimmered in the light, like liquid coal, smouldering gently as Helena flipped it over her shoulder. Myka, quite unable to bridge the gap between thoughts and words, simply hung her head, trying to hide the fresh tear dripping from her eye.

"Myka, look at me," said Helena softly, angling Myka's head to face her, with one hand, using the other to wipe away her tear. "It is I who should apologise." Myka sighed quietly at the tender touch.

"You saved me."

"And subsequently left you in the process. Believe me, I'm not regretting my actions in the slightest, but the fact that I put you through that pain was unforgivable."

"I forgive you."

"And that's why you are so much better than I deserve." This statement made Myka chuckle half-heartedly. Helena's smile widened even more – if that were even possible – and gently stroked Myka's cheek.

"If anything, it was my fault," replied Myka, not meeting Helena's eye. "Why am I cursed to always be too late?" she asked, leaning her forehead against Helena's.

"It wasn't your fault. Never, ever think that. And I'm glad that I could die protecting the one I love." Myka, with her eyes closed, breathed in the familiar scent of Helena, one she had missed for so long, and enjoyed the warmth of her body around hers.

"I miss you," said Myka simply.

"I miss you too."

"How long can you stay?"

"I honestly don't know. As long as I possibly can."

Suddenly, a sharp cry echoed down the aisle, and Myka looked up, as did Helena, towards the source of the sound.

"MYKA!" yelled Pete from the end of the aisle.

Myka felt a strange sensation, a horrible pulling at her heart, and she turned to Helena, suddenly feeling cold. She gasped as Helena's previously solid form was fading fast. She could no longer feel the warm hand on her cheek, or the comforting warmth from her embrace. Shocked, Myka reached out for her, her hand passing right through her, bringing back melancholy memories from when Helena was a hologram. Helena was calm, watching her right hand disappear with a resigned look on her face.

"It seems that I'm leaving. I'm sorry, darling."

To Myka, this was the nature of their relationship. They were fine for a while, then something happened to split them up, but they always came back to each other. Hell, Helena had nearly blown up a volcano and plunged the world into another ice age, been locked up in a sphere and sacrificed herself to save the warehouse. Who's to say she won't come back again? But this was the thing. What if she didn't? Myka dismissed these thoughts, trying to think of something to say before Helena went, but she suddenly felt her breath catch in her lungs, her vision going black. She saw a nearly transparent Helena start towards her to try and catch her, but her incorporeal arms passed right through her, making her shiver. Myka flung her hands out behind her as she fell back into the shelves, scattering various artefacts and some falling to the floor. Nearly losing her balance completely, she was glad of the strong arms wrapping around her torso and, with a gentleness one would not associate with such a solid build, she was set back on her feet.

"Mykes? Mykes! Are you alright?" Pete asked, looking with immense concern at her.

"Yes," replied Myka, and Pete felt a horrible vibe hit him like a sledgehammer. Her tone was flat and emotionless.

"Are you sure? What the hell were you doing? Did I see HG-" he started.

"Pete, let go of me," she said, in a slightly harder voice, her eyes dreamy and unfocused. Pete refused, looking into her eyes, trying to work out what was wrong. He had heard her leave and felt an odd vibe, so he decided to follow her. He tracked her through the Warehouse and began to panic when his bad feeling skyrocketed suddenly, and finally found her sitting on the floor with a figure who looked an awful lot like HG.

"Myka, what have you done?" he asked urgently, shaking her shoulders to focus her.

"Get off me, Lattimer!" she yelled, punching him in the gut, making him double over and cough, falling to his knees.

"Mykes…" he wheezed as Myka glared at him, her eyes almost glowing red for a moment, her expression wild and animalistic.

"There's something I need to do. Stay out of my way," she said, walking away.

"What? Myka, where the hell are you going?" he asked, barely able to breathe.

"To pay someone a visit. Time for a little payback," she said in a chillingly menacing voice that sent shivers up and down his spine. That wasn't his Myka. Still winded, he could do nothing to stop her leave, but he grabbed his phone from his pocket where he lay and phoned the Bed and Breakfast.

"Leena! Myka's gone crazy, she just punched me!"

"Pete, that's not anything relatively new-"

"No, she meant it! And she left. There's something wrong with her, something's not right."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: I just want to apologise for the long delay, and I'll try to update more often. As always, comments are greatly appreciated, and any ideas or requests for fics are welcomed. I hope you enjoy it. All the mistakes are mine.

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A loud clatter woke him, jumping to his feet as he heard cries of pain from the guards outside. An odd noise and a light blue flash emanated from around the dark corner at the end of the corridor, the bars in his hands chillingly cold as he gripped them so tightly his knuckles stood out white on his skin. His eyes widened in horror as he recognised the blue flash. It was the very last thing he remembered before he woke up in his cell. Murmurs from his fellow prisoners in the surrounding cells did nothing to abate his growing panic. Suddenly, a single shot was fired, the noise echoing around the prison, and a harsh silence fell like a dark curtain, leaving the man shivering, his heart hammering frantically against his ribs. Then he heard a footstep. Then another. Boots clacking against the concrete floor. Growing steadily louder, each one closer than the last, until he saw a figure at the end of the corridor. Straining his eyes to see through the gloom, he saw the silhouette turn towards him, and he knew she was gazing right at him. Even with the shadow of night clouding her features, it was blatantly obvious she was glaring at him, hurling daggers of absolute hatred and vengeance so terrifyingly pure that he was surprised he hadn't already been vaporised. Out of sheer terror, he scrambled backwards, knees shaking and nearly giving way. He fell against the back wall, wanting it to swallow him up and take him away. He looked up at the bars, and she was there.

Pete tried to get back on his feet, still struggling to breathe properly after Myka's well-aimed punch. One hand clutching his stomach, the other pulling himself up on a shelf, he managed to stand, and looked around. Something definitely wasn't right with Myka, as he looked around the aisle. He was certain he had seen H.G earlier, though she was getting steadily transparent. Leaning forwards, fighting the pain, he spotted the wallet on the floor. He pulled a pair of purple gloves from his pocket, grateful that he had remembered to grab them on the way in. He retrieved the wallet, examining it and looking for its place on the shelf. Upon finding it, he read the tag, and then ran back to the office, sprinting the whole way, with the wallet still tightly grasped in his hand.

Claudia hurried down the umbilicus, careening through the door and throwing her laptop bag onto the seat and hurrying over to Pete, who was sitting by the computer with Artie, both of them looking worried.

"Pete! You alright?" she asked quickly. He nodded, the look of grave concern still etched on his face, causing Claudia's hair to stand on end.

"Guys, what's happening? Where's Myka?" she asked, looking to Artie, sitting on his chair in front of the computer, Pete standing behind him.

"Claudia, we don't know," replied Artie, looking at her. "Pete followed her here and said he saw H.G with her –"

"Artie, that's impossible, she's dead!"

"I know what I saw, Claudia, it was her," interjected Pete. "She was see-through though, as if she wasn't really there. It's like when you first get active-camo in Halo, and you're fading…"

"Anyway," interrupted Artie. "We found the artefact she was using." He held it up in his purple gloved left hand. "Harry Houdini's wallet. Attributed to it is something called Charonic Transfer, where the user sees a 'ghost' of a dead loved one. We are certain Myka was using it to see H.G."

Claudia leant back against the desk. She hadn't taken H.G's death well, and couldn't help but be envious of Myka seeing her.

"So the downside was that she punches Pete and runs away?" she asked, remembered Leena's hurried explanation after she got off the phone to Pete earlier.

"No, we know very little about the downside of this artefact, but –"

"It wasn't the wallet that made her do this," said Leena, walking to stand next to Claudia. She had slipped in behind Claudia, and listened to the conversation up to this point. Pete clutched his chest, he hadn't seen her enter. Artie had, and knew that she was taking some time to take in all the information.

"Geez, Leena, don't you start Mrs Fredericking me now," said Pete. Leena smiled apologetically, but continued.

"Myka has been affected by this artefact before, and though the effects were not as strong as this time, its downside is not of that nature. This is something else."

"There were a number of disturbances around the area she was in before she left."

"Yeah, when I yelled at her, she seemed to lose herself for a second, she fell back against the shelf behind her," said Pete, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"And if she wasn't wearing gloves…" said Leena.

"Then one of them could be affecting her, not the wallet!" finished Claudia, who ran towards the computer as Artie typed, Leena close behind her, all of them gazing hopefully at the screen. Artie brought up the list of artefacts from the area.

"George Reeve's Eyeglasses," said Pete, reading the top.

"No, they improve eyesight," answered Artie.

"Norse Hammer?" suggested Claudia.

"Increases muscular power to god-like proportions and gives the user illusions of righteousness."

"Well, the punch really did hurt…" interjected Pete, only to receive three glares, then he decided to keep his mouth shut.

"It wouldn't be the arms of Venus do Milo, so that leaves…" said Leena, peering closely at the ever dwindling list of possibilities.

"The Ronin Amulet," sighed Artie.

"Ronin Amulet?" asked Claudia.

"Your face says that's bad…" said Pete. Artie glared at him again, but began to explain.

"In the Edo period of Japan, the samurai warriors served largely as advisors and bodyguards for the noblemen. The samurai were required to swear their allegiance and loyalty even when their 'daimyo' or 'master' was killed. They were obligated to protect their master while alive, and avenge their murder. One master, Asano Naganori, had forty seven samurai, who all took this oath seriously. During 1701, Naganori was visiting Tokyo, which was then called Edo, and was slashed by Kira Yoshinaka, another nobleman, as a result of a dispute between them. For his transgression, it was decieded that Naganori should commit 'seppuku', ritual suicide, which he did later that day. Naganori's men, the forty seven 'ronin' – samurai who lack a master – went to Yoshinaka's home and offered him the chance to commit seppuku himself. He refused, so the ronin removed his head and carried it to the castle where their master was buried and placed it in front of his tomb. They then surrendered to the authorities, and forty six committed seppuku. We aren't entirely sure what happened to the last one, whether he was pardoned or killed is still undecided."

"The Pharohs get gold and riches, he gets a head, I know which culture I want to be in," said Claudia sarcastically, earning a frown from Artie.

"So Myka touched the amulet, and now she's hell –bent on revenge?" asked Pete.

"The amulet is fuelled by an intense betrayal or loss, and the aggrieved person will stop at nothing to avenge the cause of loss. In this case, it would seem Myka is after revenge for Helena's death," explained Artie.

"So she'll be after the gunman!" concluded Claudia, shoving past Artie to type, bringing up the details of the man in question.

"Artie, what is she going to do to him?" asked Pete, looking down at the older man.

"The last person to be affected by this ended up torturing then burning their target alive, and then…" Artie paused taking a deep breath. Pete did not like where this was going at all. "Then they couldn't live with the horrors of what they had done."

Pete tore down the road, Claudia furiously typing in the passenger seat. Pete wouldn't let on how worried he really was. Myka was his partner, like his sister, and he wouldn't let anything happen to her. The cool metal of the gun on his waist weighed heavily on his mind. He knew it was his job to stop Myka, but he wasn't sure if he could shoot her to save the man who killed one of his team. What really scared him was the thought of what may happen if they were too late. He hadn't told Claudia the last person committed suicide after the artefact wore off, and knew he couldn't let Myka do it. They had to stop her.

Myka slammed on the brakes of the SUV, pulling the vehicle to a screeching halt. It was still late afternoon, the sun just beginning to set and she needed to act fast. She knew the others would be after her soon, and she was only an hour or so ahead. She had to move quickly. Without waiting for traffic to move again, she revved the engine and pulled onto the other side of the road, and shot up the highway, anger overriding her usually careful self, narrowly avoiding crashing into a Mercedes by swerving back onto the right side. A smile crept onto her face. She hadn't felt this alive for ages. The sadness had clouded her vision, had kept her pinned down in her grief. Now, everything was clear as crystal, she had a goal, and it would make everything better.


End file.
